Skyline (14 page)

They
scaled the steps of the subway station just a few blocks from Monroe’s
apartment, and there Charlotte allowed herself to slow down. To ask the only
thing she could think to ask: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bill
lifted his hands, his shoulders, then dropped them.

But
her question demanded more from her than from Bill. Why hadn’t she shown Felix
and Monroe the truth of the astrolabe until now? Why hadn’t she told Felix
about the timeline she came from? So many things left unsaid, because of the
feared response. Fearing Felix and Monroe
wouldn’t
understand unless it
was perfect. Fearing that Felix would leave her for good, that she’d never see
Charlie, even if he was in the same time as her.

“You
thought I’d stop you,” she filled in. “But you’re right. This is a smart plan.
But just …” She looked around the street. At the old buses before they were
updated into Hybrids. At the bodega nearby with its tattered sign. At the trash
littering the street corner. “Just don’t be stupid.”

“I
won’t,” he said, but too fast.

She
reached an arm out and clutched his wrist. “Don’t visit tragedies that you
think you can stand—you know you can’t. Don’t do anything you shouldn’t
know
how to do. And don’t …” She swallowed. Monroe had talked about his parents,
about their parents too. “Don’t go see my dad. Don’t visit Monroe and I. Don’t
change anything about our lives, even if you think it’d be in a good way. Our
parents, what happened to us, Monroe and I are better off not knowing, okay?”

He
circled his wrist around and grabbed hers. A strange handshake, each holding
onto the others’ wrist. “I won’t. Our history is what makes us
us
. I’d never
change mine. I won’t change yours.”

Charlotte
stared into his pale green eyes, first the left, then the right. Once again,
she believed him. Better still, this time he didn’t seem to be leaving anything
out. “I trust you,” she said.

“Then
I’ll take you home,” he said, holding out the astrolabe. He spun the stars
until he found the moment they’d left. When he released his grip, time swam
forward. Twenty-seven years, a few of which Charlotte was sure Bill would live
through. But he’d be back before then. Back before his time caught up with
theirs.

“Listen,”
she said, breaking apart from him. “Don’t forget us,” she said. “We’re here,
waiting for you. Don’t forget me, don’t forget the bombs, and don’t forget …”
She glanced up to the darkened window of Monroe’s room.

“I
couldn’t possibly,” Bill said. He stepped back, nodded, and with a fumble of
his fingers, disappeared in a flash. So long as everything went well, he’d be
back in a second, with a sighting of Ana. At the very least, he’d be back.
Right about now? Now?

But
soon Charlotte had to turn, scale the steps. He’d be back, she knew it, but it
had to be like when she, Bill, and Monroe took their first trip. Bill would
return to this time, just somewhere else. He had to commute up.

In
the meantime, Charlotte would wait, her stomach in her throat.

Charlotte
fit the key into Monroe’s—and hers now—apartment and climbed the stairs. It was
weird not to release her purse from her shoulder. Weirder still that Monroe didn’t
bounce out of his room to greet her.

Maybe
he was sleeping. Probably he was stewing. Lying in the bed, talking quietly to
himself as he had when they were kids. Tomorrow she’d have to suffer through
another argument.

She
took a beer from the fridge and gulped it down, finishing it off before she
realized it was even halfway empty. Bill wouldn’t be reckless; he couldn’t be.
There was too much at stake. But she’d never know unless he confessed it.
Securely in the timeline she was born to, she’d never notice if the World Trade
Center was resurrected. If World War II never happened.

He
wouldn’t do that.

He’d
come back soon. He’d be there, behind the door. His big hands would turn the
knob, swing it wide, and she’d see that grin buried in his dark beard. His eyes
would glitter as he eased into the chair opposite her.

Charlotte
pulled out another beer and tried to pace her drinking. If she finished this
beer, she’d just pull out another. And another. No, she took tiny swallows,
tasting the hoppy beer on her tongue before swallowing it down. Still, the
bottle emptied. Only two swallows left. Only one.

There
were feet on the stairs outside. Heavy, deliberate steps, like her Dad coming
home after a long day. The doorknob turned, the door swung wide, revealing a bald
man grinning behind it. “Hey Char.”

“Hey!”
Charlotte leaped from the table. Only a mustache remained of his beard, and he
now wore wire glasses, but before Charlotte could take note of any other
changes, Bill’s arms were around her. Squeezing tight.

She
searched her memory as he hugged her. Nothing seemed changed, though it really
wouldn’t. Instead, she sought out the big moments. Learning about the
Lusitania
.
Experiencing 9/11 and the Blast. Meeting Dad at that playground. All still
there. All intact.

Relief
swelled inside, and she closed her eyes. She squeezed Bill back. “God, I know
it’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like months. You didn’t change
anything.”

“Barely
anything,” he said, and she heard something different in his voice. Not his usual
confidence that would crash through anyone’s beliefs. Beneath his confidence
was a respect, a sincerity that she hadn’t heard before. He stepped back,
surveying the apartment, the couch, her. “And this place,
you
look the
same.”

Charlotte
took her own turn at surveying him. More had changed than just a simple shave,
a set of glasses. “How long has it been?” His wide stomach was gone. Muscles
bulged from his arms and chest. He held himself straighter. Even his gleaming
green eyes showed that he’d grown not just older on his trip, but more mature.

“I
dunno,” he said, scratching his bare chin where he once tugged at a beard.
“Four years their time. I got to see Y2K. But I jumped around a lot. Could’ve
been a lot more or a little less.” He scratched his skull, his biceps bulging
with the movement. “I brought money to pay you back.” From a bowling-ball bag
strapped over his chest, he handed her a thick roll of cash, much larger than
the five hundred she’d provided.

“God,
you look great,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of him. He was so
different, but his light eyes sparkled the way they always did. And his cheeks
were still a little plump, a sign of who he was before. But the more she
looked, the more it worried her.

Four
years
.

It
could only have been that long if he’d failed. Day after day, searching through
history, never finding Ana. Or had he, over all that time, forgotten his plan
was more than getting a job on the bomb squad?

“And
Ana?” She couldn’t help herself. That was what had sold her on his plan. That
was what Monroe would respond to.

Bill
exhaled, shaking his head, but his shoulders didn’t drop. He wasn’t as
disappointed as Charlotte felt. “Nothing. I searched everywhere. Every time I
could think. And when I ran out of historical events, I searched randomly.
Nothing. She has to be there, but I couldn’t find her.” Again he shook his
head.

What
was next, then? Accepting Monroe’s hazardous plan of visiting the future?
Coming up with something new? Bill had had years to look and found nothing, how
could they find another path?

“And
the other thing?” Charlotte asked. “The bomb squad?”

One
side of Bill’s lips tugged upward. “That, at least, was a success. I know a
little tech, but I have all these tactics now. Containing and setting off one
that’s impossible to defuse. And timed ones with little left on the clock?” His
forehead wrinkled upward. “Well, that’s called ‘slash-and-grab.’ Pull wires,
hope for the best.”

Basically
what she’d done with Ana’s first bomb.

“And
now Paris won’t stand a chance against us,” Bill said. He flexed his muscles.
“Next time he shows his face, we’ll take him down, you and me.”

Charlotte
nodded. Of course, they had no idea what tricks Paris had up his sleeve. He was
from the future; there were probably ways of hurting them that they couldn’t
conceive. But now Bill had been traveling for years, too.

“I
can’t get over it,” she said. “You look so different.”

Bill
smiled, a little sadness buried within, as he set down his bowling-ball bag. He
pulled her leather purse from it and set the astrolabe inside. “Here you go,
back as you had it, none the worse for wear.” He handed it over, his hand
remaining in the air as she accepted it. “Listen, Charlotte. Thank you for
trusting me. For letting me take a risk, to search for Ana on my own, to join
the bomb squad. It means a lot.”

“It
was a good plan,” Charlotte said, but she couldn’t match his enthusiastic tone.
“I just wish it had worked. I need some sleep,” she told him, setting her bag
beside the couch. She could tell, in his eyes, that he’d expected her to rush
off on the next adventure, but she was tapped of ideas. Maybe Monroe had it
right.

She
turned to the hallway, a yawn on her lips. But she paused. Turned and finished
her yawn. “Give Monroe some time, okay?” she said. “You’ve had years to get
past tonight, but for us, we’ve barely had a moment to breathe since all this
started.”

Bill’s
mustache cocked to one side. He gazed at her, then at last nodded. He sat on
the couch, plumping up a pillow before lying down. She hadn’t meant to ruin his
good mood, to take back all he’d gained. But he needed to be reminded that time
hadn’t moved an inch since he’d left.

“I
should warn you”—she said, wanting to do her part to end this better—“Monroe
has a thing for mustaches.”

Now
Bill’s smile returned, wider than ever. “Good,” he said. “I really can’t wait
to see him.”

Both
of them might have failed, but maybe something good could come out of this.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

But
when
Charlotte awoke the next morning, Monroe was gone. She stepped from her room—so
odd to once again have a room in Monroe’s apartment—and found Bill still laying
on the couch. Irritation bled out from him like fumes. “He didn’t even
see
me.”

Bill
explained how Monroe had exited his room like a hurricane, holding a finger up
toward the couch. “Don’t say a word,” Monroe had said. “I’m going to
research
,
like I’m good at.” And then he was through the door. Completely missing the man
that Bill had become.

“He’ll
be back,” Charlotte assured Bill. “And who knows? Maybe he’ll see something
that we couldn’t.” If only he’d stayed a little longer, Charlotte and Bill
would have told him how they failed. She would have admitted that maybe he had
a point. Maybe the future—no matter how dangerous—could help them.

It’s
not like they had any other leads.

The
morning passed, then lunchtime, and still Monroe didn’t appear. Charlotte’s
heart hammered louder with every ticking second. Paris had given her a chance
to speak with Leanor, time for Bill to explore the past, but when would his
patience run out? It felt wrong, waiting in the apartment, cleaning every speck
of dirt she found, hoping that the other shoe wouldn’t drop today.

She
called Felix, chatted with him and Charlie while watching the clock. Assuring
him they’d be ready to go soon. She couldn’t express how glad she was that
Charlie was still safe.

A
little after three, the door clicked, and Monroe stepped in. His eyes told it
all, gleaming like a lighthouse beacon in a fog.

He’d
found something.

Before
Charlotte could ask, Bill was up from the couch, across the room, and squeezing
Monroe in his arms. “’Roe! God, it’s good to see you.”

Monroe
frowned, but returned the hug. Maybe this day had been good for more than just
research. Maybe a day away from Bill had done the same work for Monroe that
four years had for Bill.

Then
Monroe’s jaw clenched. Charlotte wondered whether the gleam in his eyes wasn’t
about finding something. Wondered whether it was a warning. A lighthouse beacon
had been more accurate than she’d realized. Monroe dropped his arms. “I guess
you were …” he began, stepping back. He froze. Stared at Bill’s face, his
stomach, his pecs. “Hel
lo
, Daddy.” Monroe whistled.

“Toldja,”
Charlotte said.

Again
Monroe shook himself. That warning gleam in his eye returned. “So, how’d your
trips go?”

Bill
wrinkled his forehead, lifted his hands. “Neither of us found a thing.”

Charlotte
nodded, needing to get this out of the way. “I got her phone, but …” She lifted
her shoulders and let them fall. “How about you? Anything?”

The
corners of Monroe’s mouth curled upward. A devilish smile. “You got her phone,
but what, didn’t talk to her?”

Charlotte
shook her head. “She jumped away right as I got inside.”

“
Got
inside?” Monroe repeated. “What, she wouldn’t let you in? You had to break in?”

Charlotte’s
cheeks reddened. She hadn’t broken in; she’d had a key. But the police
had
come. She attempted a shrug and stepped to the refrigerator for some cheese.

“It’s
interesting,” Monroe said, “because the night you originally called her,
someone did just that.” Charlotte froze, watching Monroe pull a stack of
printouts from his satchel. He handed one of the pages to Bill. “It seems that
there was a disturbance. Someone yelling a lot. But when security got there,
all they found was an unlocked door and an empty apartment. They checked the
security feeds from the lobby, but couldn’t seem to find how the intruder got
away. Odd, right?”

The
gleam
was
a warning. Charlotte slammed the refrigerator; the bottles
inside rattled together. “Look, ’Roe, I—”

“So
much for being discreet.”

“She
wouldn’t let me in!” Charlotte said, glancing to Bill for help. She’d failed,
wasn’t that enough for Monroe? Why did he have to rub it in? “She was our only
lead. Was I supposed to let her go? Let her vanish without ever talking to me?
So, yeah, I let myself in. I jumped back in time to exchange a few unhelpful
words. You think I don’t
know
I did something dangerous?”

More
softly now, Monroe said, “It’s fine, Char. I’m teasing. It’s just so
you
.
Bursting in without thought. Couldn’t you have gone in before you called? Told
her what to say? Had an actual conversation?”

But
Charlotte wouldn’t let Monroe’s tone change her frustration. Paris could be on
the way, and Monroe was enjoying the fact that she’d failed. “She
fled
,
’Roe. Scared of Paris. Of Ana, too, I think. Can you blame her? I’d run too.”

“Huh,”
Monroe said in a quiet voice. His triumph seemed to fade. But then he turned to
Bill—the man who was so excited to see him. “What about you? Nothing?” God,
what did he have in store?

Bill
shook his head.

“Yeah,”
Monroe replied. “As much as I searched, I couldn’t find anything that looked
like a suspicious woman hanging around at the Blast sites. Not even a
conspiracy theory. But”—he set the remaining stack of printouts on the kitchen table—“there
were plenty of theories about a conspicuous
man
.” The first image showed
a portrait of Bill standing in the background of some party. Monroe leaned in
toward Bill. “How’d you get an invite to Truman Capote’s party at the Plaza?
Did you just sneak in?”

“I
…” Bill began, but as he flipped through the pages, the words dried up in his
mouth. “Holy shit,” was all he could say. He said it over and over. “I … Holy
shit.”

“My
sentiments exactly.”

Charlotte
tugged some pages over and flipped through, too. Every single image showed
Bill. Outside some random building. Almost hidden by a morning fog. Loitering
behind tourists on Liberty Island.

“Jeez,
I … Holy shit.” Bill kept flipping through, his face growing whiter with every
image. “I didn’t think,” he finally managed to say.